


He's Drunk and Therefore Forgiven

by undun



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Occifer of the Law, F/M, Girly Feels, Grey hair kink FTW, He's an Inspective Detector!, Het! Run while you still can!, Mollstrade: you know it makes sense, Post-Reichenbach, Resistance is Futile, Sexual Content, Why is she even trying?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undun/pseuds/undun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Inspector Lestrade. How much willpower does it take Molly Hooper to resist his charm? And just how charming can a pissed copper be, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story set a few months into The Hiatus. The first chapter has been edited and saved with no changes apart from correcting sentence!fails. Beta and encouragement from the Most Excellent Mildred andbobbin and the Lovely Luthien. Thanks so much, guys!

1  
  
‘I think, I think– yes, they’re telling us to go home, Greg,’ Molly said, a touch louder than she usually would, but it was noisy in the pub and her intended audience wasn’t terribly well focused. She patted Lestrade’s shoulder, trying to regain his attention.  
  
‘Um, Greg?’ She tugged at his sleeve a little. His head wobbled slightly as he turned to face her – as if the fuselage of his neck had developed metal fatigue and might shear off at any moment.  
  
‘Yuh?’ His eyes were focused somewhere behind her head.  
  
There was a very serious looking man wearing a black t-shirt standing by the table. He gazed down at the Detective Inspector. Was he still entitled to the title? She didn’t really know. All she knew was that she had to get him up and out of the pub before there was a scene. The black-clad man would make mincemeat out of Lestrade in the state he was in, and it wouldn’t be improved by flashing the DI’s credentials at him either. No, indeed – if those tattoos on his forearms were anything to go by: she’d seen a few of those on the slab after gang clashes.  
  
It had been a bad idea. Of  _course_  it was a bad idea to go out with someone who was in fifty different kinds of shit – emotionally and professionally, and whatever-else-ally. Why had she said yes? Was it the big brown (miserable) eyes, the slouched shoulders (which she couldn’t see over the phone and shouldn’t really count), or the husky hopelessness of his voice (she’d instantly imagined an overflowing ashtray in front of him)?  
  
She had a soft heart. Actually, it was far too soft for her own good. It was the very reason that specializing in forensic pathology had appealed to her, rather than facing the all-too-alive sick people whom she might not be able to cure of their illnesses. In her work there was nothing more to be done for her particular variety of patients except answer what questions their deaths may have raised.  
  
It was no surprise then that DI Lestrade’s big brown eyes had worked on her even from the other end of a telephone call. And here she was, manhandling a large, silver-haired policeman up and out of a pub at the arse-end of the night. Seriously, he must be twice her weight! Molly was wiry, though, and they soon hit the pavement outside where the clear chill of the air almost stung after the close, fetid interior. Smoking bans just meant more room for body odour, really.  
  
They tottered and stumbled to the corner where Molly’s often-under-appreciated tenacity snagged them a cab just before Lestrade’s wobbly weight sent them to the pavement.  
  
‘What’s your address, Greg?’ she asked breathlessly after pushing him inside. No answer. ‘Greg?’ She put a hand on his arm. His face was turned to the window – actually it was  _on_  the window. She discerned a sound that might have been a snore.  
  
‘Oh, fuck,’ Molly whispered. She looked up at the driver’s face reflected in the mirror. He wasn’t smiling. He was probably foreseeing a cab smelling of beer-diluted vomit. She hoped his vision was misplaced paranoia. No doubt he got it a lot though, on Fridays sliding into Saturdays in a haze of mind-numbing alcohol.  
  
‘Um,’ Molly stalled. What to do? She could ring John Watson – he must know Lestrade’s address. Surely? But…  
  
She didn’t want to talk to John. If she did, she might have a weak moment and blurt out everything that he absolutely  _must not know_. And she’d had a few drinks, god knows what she might say, with the least amount of pressure, or even just a hint of the pain that John must be going through. That would crush her like a bag of crisps.  
  
Molly gave the cabbie her address. She was taking Greg Lestrade home tonight. She almost giggled.  
  
~~~~~•~~~~~  
  
‘You’re a lovely girl, Molly. First rate. Top shelf-f-f–” Lestrade toppled onto the bed with a whump, chuckling softly.  
  
‘Um, thanks, Greg. That’s nice. Nice of you to say.’  
  
‘Not just sayin’ it, y’know. God’s honest to godness, haha, no, it’s true. I’ve always thought so. And, after, y’know…’ Lestrade gestured at an image in his mind’s eye that he must be certain was visible to Molly, ‘Well! Sensational; gorgeous. Made me sit up and take notice, I can tell you!’  
  
Molly had no idea what he was talking about. He leant up on his elbows and grinned at her, eyes slightly unfocused and sparkling like crazy. If she didn’t know him better she would have called it a lecherous leer. She pulled at the laces on his shoes.  
  
‘What do you mean, Greg?’ One shoe off, then the other. Lestrade didn’t seem aware of being helped to bed like a child.  
  
‘You! God, at the Christmas party!’ Lestrade spoke the word as two: Pah Tay. ‘Bloody hell. You looked amazing.’ Lestrade’s elbows wobbled and collapsed under him. He laughed at the ceiling. ‘I didn’t think I could feel that way anymore, not after what she put me through,’ he said in a softer voice.  
  
Molly’d been amused and flattered, now she felt it morph into something much more tender at his admission. What had his wife been thinking? Yes, admittedly, Greg Lestrade was sort of a workaholic, but considering his occupation it was something of a given. Hadn’t she been proud of her husband?  
  
Honestly, some women couldn’t see a good thing when was standing, or lying, right in front of them!  
  
‘Molly.’  
  
‘Yes, Greg?’  
  
‘I’m in your bed.’ Lestrade said this with wonder in his voice, gazing around the room as if only just noticing it.  
  
‘Yes, Greg.’  
  
‘Oh-kay. Nice,’ he commented, nodding at Molly’s replica skeleton beside the wardrobe.  
  
‘Oh, do you really like it?’ Molly asked with a pleased smile.  
  
‘Sure! It’s a female, yeah?’  
  
‘Greg, oh my god, it is!’ Molly was flabbergasted. ‘Greg Lestrade, have you been playing dumb with me all this time?’ She blushed, adding, ‘No, I mean, not dumb… less smart. No, I mean – less than, um, knowledgeable about forensics – or, anatomy. Yes, um...’ Molly nodded, approving of her revision and allowing it to stand.  
  
Lestrade was grinning at her, huffing a short giggle. ‘I lo-o-o-ve it when you get all f-flustered and shy, Molly. You’re cute,’ he said.  
  
Molly didn’t know what to say. She turned to the door, stopping briefly before stepping away to say, ‘Um, I’ll just get you a towel and toothbrush.’ She dashed out of the room to work on resolving her confusion and the unexpected rush of lust sweeping through her body.  
  
She chanted softly as she rummaged at the back of the bathroom cabinet for a spare brush. ‘He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he’s drunk.’  
  
She found inebriated men unattractive. Molly had spent far too many ill-advised dates, and short-lived relationships, cleaning up after blokes who never knew when they’d had one, two, or six too many to drink. She’s dealt with stupid drunks, maudlin drunks and even violent drunks. Molly had also seen the results of drinking gone horribly wrong in her role at work.  
  
Greg Lestrade was something out of the box: a sweet drunk.  
  
She pulled a clean towel from the stack in the hall cupboard and went back to her bedroom. Lestrade was sitting upright, frowning near-sightedly at his shirt buttons as he fumbled his fingers around them.  
  
‘Here’s a towel and a toothbrush. Use anything you want in the bathroom,’ Molly said, dropping them on the bed and taking three steps back to survey him from the doorway. There was quite a bit of chest hair showing above the scooped neck of his vest, the whiteness of which contrasted markedly with Lestrade’s persistent tan.  
  
It wouldn’t do to dwell on just how much saliva she had in her mouth at the sight.  
  
Lestrade glanced at Molly and then at her offerings. ‘Thanks, thanks. Can I get a spare blanket too?’  
  
She had a duvet and comforter on her bed. ‘Are you cold?’  
  
‘No-o-o,’ Greg answered, swaying as he stood and slipped his arms out of his shirtsleeves. ‘Just might get a bit cold later on your so-fah.’  
  
‘Oh, no, silly! That is, I mean, I’m sleeping on the sofa. You’re staying right here.  
  
‘I’m bloody well, well  **not!** ’  
  
‘Greg, you’re sleeping here. I’ll be perfectly comfortable on the sofa – it’s built for my size, and you’re… a bit larger. Your feet will hang over,’ she said with a tight smile. For most of her life she’d had terrible trouble getting men to do what she wanted them to. She’d hoped that Greg Lestrade might be more cooperative.  
  
‘Molly,’ he began, taking two steps towards her, and hitching his hands on his hips in a trademark fed-up-Lestrade posture, ‘Let’s be clear about, about, er, this,’ he waved a hand vaguely at their surroundings. ‘I’m  **not**  putting you out of your own bloody bed!’ Lestrade waved a hand grandly on the last word and promptly staggered into her. Molly grabbed at his waist, using some of her tenacious strength to steady him. Lestrade’s left hand clutched at her shoulder, his right slapping against the door-jamb.  
  
‘Oops,’ he laughed and moved his right hand to her shoulder, effectively holding her in place.  
  
She still held him around the waist. His heat radiated through the thin cotton of his vest. He pulled at her shoulders, hands moving around to cup her shoulder blades. He drew her closer and bent his head to bury his nose at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He drew in a deep breath through his nose.  
  
‘Mm, I’m s-so drunk,’ he slurred happily, his lips against her skin and his breath bringing the fine hairs on her neck to attention.  
  
He moved his hands down slowly to stroke over her lower back – fingertips pressing against her arse. Molly wondered whether she should be doing anything to stop him. She had been about to do that, hadn’t she? It was such a struggle to  _think_. Her hips tilted without consultation, unconsciously falling into the rhythm of Lestrade’s strokes. If he could cuddle this well while drunk, just imagine–  
  
Okay, stop right there. Molly sighed fretfully, drawing away from Greg’s hands; his large, warm, knowledgeable hands.  
  
‘No-o-o,’ he protested, an expression of childlike disappointment on his face. How– why–?  
  
How could he look so cute with his old-man-hair and his crows-feet eyelids, and-and… Well, he didn’t have a six-pack, or even a four-pack. More of a beer-pack, really.  
  
‘We shouldn’t really do this now, Greg,’ Molly said. She took a slow step backwards, missing his body heat immediately.  
  
‘Oh? That’s a shame, Molls.’ His shoulders sagged and for a moment he looked like what he actually was: a middle-aged copper with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Molly’s heart clenched painfully.  
  
‘Is it ‘cause I’m pissed as a newt?’ Just as quickly the moment passed and his eyes focused on her with unnerving intensity. ‘I’m not that far gone, really,’ he insisted, taking a step forward and destroying the careful space between them that Molly had been attempting to preserve.  
  
In the next breath she found her hands enclosed within his. ‘Tell me, Molly,’ he began, his voice dropping deeper and quieter, ‘do you  **like**  me?’  
  
‘Greg! Of course I do,’ she answered quickly. ‘Oh, god, yes, I do, Greg. But, but–’ She’d been about to say that she didn’t want to take advantage of him while he was inebriated. Just how well would that have gone down? She closed her eyes briefly in relief that she had, for once,  _not_  blurted out the wrong words at a critical moment.  
  
‘It’s a bad time. Is it a bad time?’ he asked. He stroked his thumbs across the backs of her hands. ‘I mean, like– um, your period?’ His head tilted down slightly.  
  
‘Oh. No, no, not that.’ Most guys she dated never even referred to menstruation, thinking she’d be offended or embarrassed. It was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn’t reluctant to bring it up. ‘I was actually,’ she took a deep breath– ‘afraid that you might regret, um, sleeping with me. When you sobered up, I mean. In the morning, you know.’  
  
She found herself suddenly swamped by warm, heavy arms, her face pressed against a lightly furred and pleasingly musky chest. She closed her eyes and reveled in the novelty of feeling absolutely tiny and insubstantial at the same time as cherished and cared for. Let the illusion sweep over her for just a few seconds more.  
  
‘ **Molly!** ’ Lestrade’s harsh whisper sounded faux-angry and his arms tightened slightly before relaxing around her again. ‘I  **told**  you. You’re fucking gorgeous. I like you!’ His face tipped down and his mouth traced the side of her face until he stopped at her ear. ‘I would say it’s more than just  **liking**  you, Molly–’  
  
There was no longer any possibility of ignoring the rather hard evidence of the truth of Lestrade’s words. It was nudging against her belly in an uneven rhythm of want.  
  
‘Oh.’ She couldn’t muster any more argument. What the hell. She hadn’t slept with anyone since ‘IT Jim’, and honestly hadn’t wanted to after the ignominy of that encounter.  
  
She’d spent too many lonely nights searching back through her memories for any clues, any signs that she had missed, that the man she had fallen into bed with was not all he had seemed. All she could come up with was the suspicion that he had not had an orgasm every time they had slept together – not impossible to fake when using condoms. In retrospect the medication he had taken before the meals they shared was probably something like Viagra – not a digestive aid as he’d said.  
  
It didn’t get much more insulting than that.  
  
‘O-ooh,’ Molly murmured fretfully. What should she do?  
  
~~~~~•~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly Hooper succumbs to a happily pissed Lestrade, more than once as it happens... Apparently pissed coppers can be right charmin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story set a few months into The Hiatus. The first chapter has been edited and saved with no changes apart from correcting sentence!fails. Beta and encouragement from the Most Excellent Mildred andbobbin and the Lovely Luthien. Thanks so much, guys!

2  
  
Molly whined softly in distress.  
  
‘Whassa matter, hm?’ Lestrade’s whisper, as close as he was, sounded loud against her ear. Close enough for Molly to visualise the pattern of his voice recorded on a readout. Close enough that she could shut her eyes and see his vocal chords as they vibrated, the pink tissues of his throat and mouth as they shaped his words, tipping them into her ear–  
  
Her eyes flew open in shock. She was having a  _Sherlock_  moment!  
  
Banishing all thoughts of Sherlock Holmes from her mind – and slamming a mental door shut after them – she turned her face into Lestrade’s chest, surrendering to the urge to breathe in his scent. Molly said goodbye to higher brain function for the foreseeable future and bid hello to erotic sensation.  
  
She had never been fond of the smell of beer, but Lestrade’s humid, hops-scented breath made her shiver as it brushed against her ear and scalp. His wet tongue-tip traced along the edge of her ear and she moaned again, locking her knees straight.  
  
‘Hey?’ Lestrade slipped his fingers under her jaw to tilt her head up, scanning her face for clues. ‘All right?’  
  
His dark eyes shone with care and concern, and never mind that he was swaying slightly and obviously still two sheets to the wind.  
  
Molly nodded her head quickly. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Oh, god, yes.’  
  
‘Good. That’s good,’ he nodded slightly, licking his lips.  
  
How was his libido even awake with that level of alcohol intake, she wondered with the tiny part of her mind that refused to stop analysing. Molly left it muttering in the corner and got on with better things.  _Her_  libido was functioning just fine. It was reaching dizzying new heights in record time.  
  
We-e-ell, being perfectly honest (and she could be in the privacy of her own head, couldn’t she?), then it was hardly the first time she’d noticed Greg Lestrade was an attractive man. However, she’d never been close enough to realize that he  _smelt_  good too, or that the texture of his skin was both smooth and furry, and extraordinarily  _hot_ to the touch. Or that his bloody grey-speckled chest hair was bloody irresistible!  
  
All-in-all, what hope did she have? (Don’t answer, her tiny partitioned window of rationality added; rhetorical question.)  
  
Internal consensus reached, Molly moved her hands from her death grip on Lestrade’s waist and grabbed at his elusively short hair. She jerked his head away from her ear.  
  
‘Mol–?’  
  
She kissed him. A little bit roughly.  
  
Nervousness made her snap her teeth against his bottom lip. She had the urge to pull back and apologise at the same moment as his hands slid down to clutch her buttocks and he released a loud moan into her mouth.  
  
Oh.  
  
Molly squeaked and went to putty, allowing him to tilt and angle her hips, to hold her against his erection as he performed a deliciously slow grind accompanied by a low, filthy growl.  
  
That undid her.  
  
‘Oh! Greg!’ Before she knew it her left leg was edging up and she had her knee as high as his hip, opening herself to him and, she didn’t really know – trying to climb up him like playground equipment?  
  
Definitely on the same incomprehensible page as Molly, Lestrade had his hand hooked under her knee, bracing her as he bent his knees slightly to press against… Yes, devastatingly on-target.  
  
Dead centre.  
  
They both managed to croak ‘Fuck!’ at the same time.  
  
Then he did it again.  
  
Molly, by this point she’d forgotten her own name, screeched thinly, broke into a sopping sweat, clenched all over–  
  
–and came.  
  
~~~~~•~~~~~  
  
Molly was aware of her other foot leaving the ground, her thighs wrapping around worn, warm denim. She was still drifting in the land of Aftershocks, her hands grasping at anything… well, handy.  
  
‘Fucking beautiful,’ Lestrade murmured over her shoulder, arms and hands cradling her body. Molly couldn’t summon the will to open her eyes even as she felt Lestrade begin to move. Where was he going? Her head swam and the ground tipped up.  
  
Ah, the bed.  
  
She bounced gently and felt the mattress dip beside her. ‘You should bend your knees when you’re lifting heavy things, Greg,’ she admonished drowsily, still making no effort to open her eyes. She was so immensely relaxed.  
  
Lestrade made a noise not unlike a snort. ‘You aren’t heavy, Molls!’  
  
She finally opened her eyes and was startled by his blazing smile. He was kneeling beside her on the bed with an aura of barely contained energy. Molly watched the rapid tattoo of the pulse in his neck and felt a tickle of concern. A moment later she realised she’d overlooked something as her gaze rested on the distended fabric over his crotch.  
  
‘Oh! Greg, you didn’t, erm,’ she paused, stumbling for a word.  
  
‘No, but you did!’ Lestrade stated gleefully. ‘And it was wonderful to see.’  
  
Molly was suddenly, crushingly, self-conscious. ‘Um, thanks?’  
  
Lestrade finally hid his luminous teeth behind a closed-lipped smile. It did nothing to dim the light in his dark eyes. ‘Anytime! I mean _any_  time, Molly,’ he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her.  
  
Molly didn’t think her face could get any more flushed than it already was. She was so wrong. She was thankful that she still had her clothes on and pulled her skirt down slightly. She chewed on her lip, which was already quite sensitive after rubbing up against Lestrade’s bristled cheek. Sexual etiquette dictated that she should at least offer to return the favour for Lestrade, though she doubted anything she could do would equal the bone melting orgasm he’d given her without even taking his pants off.  
  
‘Um,’ she began, darting her eyes up to his – he was still happily regarding her, ‘Do you want me to, er, I mean I could, ah…’ She waggled her fingers at him, ‘You know?’  
  
Lestrade looked briefly puzzled until he dipped his head to see where she was gesturing. ‘Oh! No, you don’t have to, Molly. Unless, you, er, want to try for another one?’ His voice went a bit gravelly as he added, ‘I don’t have any condoms with me, though.’ He looked like a child who’d unwrapped a robotic toy that didn’t have the batteries included.  
  
‘I do!’ Molly blurted, wanting to banish the look from his face as quickly as possible. Her neglected intellect fired off a quick memo: this is what we are trying to prevent when we say  **think before you talk!**  
  
Molly’s mouth gaped a little. She swallowed loud enough that the neighbours probably heard.  
  
‘Brilliant!’ said Lestrade.  
  
She blinked at his teeth.  
  
This is it, Molly thought dimly: she was going to have naked-in-bed-sex with Greg Lestrade. Who, it seemed, had managed to sober up to a point where he could worry about condoms,  _and_  manage to lift her up and carry her to the bed without falling flat on his arse. If Molly had been a suspicious person, she’d be suspicious about that. Instead, she ran some figures through her head to do with body weight, metabolic speed, intake, exercise, age… and came up with – what was the question again? All she could think was that he should probably urinate and drink some water.  
  
‘Do you want to use the bathroom, Greg?’  
  
~~~~~•~~~~~  
  
Molly spent the next few minutes trying to produce a finished thought: they all seemed to peter out before the end, sputtering and stalling whenever she ran back over the recent conversation. She found her fingertips touching her neck where Lestrade’s day’s worth of stubble had stroked against her skin, making it sensitive and a little raw. It felt delicious.  
  
She looked up to see Lestrade leaning in the bedroom doorway regarding her with smiling eyes. He licked his bottom lip. It made him look a little hungry. Molly’s eyes dropped involuntarily to his groin, noting a reduced volume with both relief and disappointment. She looked up and was mortified to see Lestrade grinning at her.  
  
‘Don’t worry, Molls. I’ll be back to competition level in no time.’ He winked wickedly.  
  
Molly made a noise that defied description. It seemed to defy interpretation too. Lestrade raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay?’  
  
‘Yes! Yes, I’m fine.’ She swallowed noisily again. ‘Did you find everything you needed?’  
  
Lestrade walked slowly towards her. ‘Yeah, thanks. Spare toothbrush as well, hope you don’t mind?’  
  
‘No, of course not,’ Molly assured him. ‘You’re more than welcome, Greg.’ Molly did her best to smile naturally, and not leave her mouth in a nervous rictus.   
  
Lestrade reached out and traced his fingers lightly across her brow and down the side of her face. ‘You’re beautiful, Molly.’  
  
‘You say such lovely things, Greg.’ Molly thought that came out with just a touch of accusation. Truly, it did make her wonder why he said the things he said, besides the obvious, of course. Intoxicated men looking to get a leg over tended to use fairly similar techniques after all.  
  
‘Yeah, well, I probably should’ve been saying it a lot earlier,’ Lestrade said on a sigh, dropping his hand back down and kneeling on the bed once more. In his other hand was Molly’s packet of durex. Lestrade opened it and shook out the strip of condoms. He looked at them and then raised his eyebrows at Molly. ‘How many, d’you think?’  
  
His teeth were in play again and Molly couldn’t help her giggle escaping. ‘What, how many do you usually–  
  
‘Oh, stacks!’ Lestrade, gestured widely. ‘How long have you got?’  
  
‘Shouldn’t that be my question?’ Molly countered. She felt emboldened and happy, lighter.  
  
He responded with a husky laugh. Molly rolled up to her knees facing him. He brushed his fingers against the side of her face, tweaking the loose strands that had escaped her hairpins.  
  
‘Oh, I probably look frightful!’ she said in a self-conscious rush, patting at her hair. ‘Let me just go–’  
  
‘No, no!’ Lestrade protested softly, laughing a little, ‘I love it! You look great, Molly.’  
  
Molly coughed to cover what probably would have been a choking sound of disbelief. Why did he keep saying these things? Was it just the alcohol?  
  
Did he really–  
  
She had a half-second warning before Lestrade’s mouth pressed a soft kiss against hers. A gentle nibble followed by another, and another…  
  
All Molly could do was grip his arms and hang on. All her concentration was focused on Lestrade’s lips, anticipation coiling tight inside her. She was dimly aware that she was emitting some undignified squeaks, but chose not to care because the rumbling moans that Lestrade had vibrating through his chest were really very distracting.  
  
 _Very_  distracting.  
  
Molly’s still-cognisant brain fragment tried to analyse why she responded to Lestrade with such rapid, all-consuming arousal. She usually wasn’t the type to improvise her sexual encounters, such as they were. It would normally be an activity much considered and planned for. This was one was something of a sneak attack tsunami. Molly’s brain fragment was left to gibber incoherently after a powerful wave of lust swept through her. Lestrade had adroitly slipped a hand under her skirt and was palming the front of her pants, the heel of his hand pressing with just the right amount of–  
  
‘Aaaaah!’ She was  _almost_  embarrassed again, but it was just too. Fucking. Good! Time to leave the super-ego behind and get with the program.  
  
Molly moved her hands from Lestrade’s arms up to his neck, stroking through the short hair at the back of his neck. He lifted his head, their lips sadly separating, and groaned as he turned his head side-to-side against her fingers. Like a large cat, she thought, using her short nails to scratch his scalp lightly.  
  
‘Fuck, that’s good,’ he gasped, closing his eyes.  
  
Molly giggled, feeling an overwhelming surge of affection for the man. She suddenly felt powerful and before she could second-guess herself she whispered, ‘Lay down, Greg,’ and pushed him gently backwards.  
  
‘Eh?’ He blinked down at her and stumbled a bit, looking uncertain.  
  
‘On your back.’  
  
‘Oh, sure!’ he agreed, mouth widening into a blinding grin. ‘As long as you come with me?’  
  
Molly nodded and smiled back at him. Her hands were trembling slightly in his large, warm ones, although she didn’t feel nervous anymore. She was… Elated? She tried the word out briefly, liking the flavour of it.  
  
She found that she had swung a leg over Lestrade’s waist – when had she done that? – and was now looking down at him reclining on her pillows while he fondled her hands. This time she didn’t blush when she felt a hard throb from his crotch.  
  
She swallowed tightly – they needed to get practical. ‘Um, we do regular blood tests at work, because, y’know… um, dealing with biohazards, risky business and all that–’  
  
Molly closed her eyes briefly, wondering if she’d just ruined the mood.  
  
‘Yeah. Me too,’ Lestrade responded with no sign of discomfort, ‘Crime scenes not being the cleanest of places an’ all.’ Lestrade huffed an almost-laugh. ‘I was more likely to pick up something off my ex-wife, t’be honest!’  
  
‘Scrag,’ Molly muttered in disgust. ‘Oh, my god – I’m sorry!’  
  
Lestrade erupted into throaty laughter. He still held her hands and Molly moved hers to place them on either side of his face, fingers stroking along his thick, dark eyebrows. Lestrade closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure, his hands landing on her waist.  
  
A large, happy cat, she thought with a smile.  
  
Molly bent and kissed his closed eyelids. Lestrade’s hands moved to stroke along her hips and waist, one hand again sliding around to the front, lifting her skirt and delving underneath. She jolted with surprise when his fingers wriggled past the elastic around her thigh and brushed against her genitals. Skin-to-skin.  
  
‘Hey, Molly?’ he enquired softly.  
  
She knew what he was going to ask. Honestly, he’d already checked in with her multiple times and they hadn’t even got to intercourse. Probably going to take the award for Most Considerate Ravisher of the Year, Molly decided.  
  
 _Intercourse. Oh. My. God._  
  
She bobbed her head jerkily. ‘Good. It… feels good, Greg.’  
  
He was smiling up at her, a little furrow of concentration between his eyebrows. She was gripping his shoulders, unable to stop the sharp, rhythmic jerk of her hips as his finger stroked inside her folds, finding her clit with unerring accuracy, and bringing a second finger to tease at the entrance to her vagina.  
  
‘God, god, fuck!’ she gasped.  
  
Lestrade’s hand enclosed her left hip, bracing her while his right hand worked tirelessly to wring another climax from her. His hips echoed her movement rising and falling beneath her. He panted encouragement.  
  
‘That’s it, that’s my girl, come on, Molly. Come on me, Molly. I want to see you come, Molly. Yeah!’  
  
Just as she began shuddering and emitting an alarming squeak, he pushed both fingers up inside her and she screeched, clamping herself around his fingers. ‘Fuck, no, god, yes, oh-my-god, Gre-e-eg!’  
  
‘Christ, yeah!’ Lestrade gave an exultant shout, not dissimilar to the shout he gave down the pub when Arsenal scored a goal on the TV football broadcast.  
  
~~~~~•~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly: 2  
> Greg: 0  
> Let's see if we can improve those scores, shall we?
> 
> ‘What gorgeous little pippins,’ he sighed, his eyes wide and shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story set a few months into The Hiatus. The first chapter has been edited and saved with no changes apart from correcting sentence!fails. Beta and encouragement from the Most Excellent Mildred andbobbin and the Lovely Luthien. Thanks so much, guys!

3  
  
Molly floated for a while, limp and lying flat against Lestrade’s chest while he removed her hairpins one-by-one and finger-combed tangles out of her hair. Now and again she felt a vibration passing from his chest to hers as he intermittently hummed an unrecognisable tune. He paused frequently as his fingers encountered particularly stubborn knots of hair.  
  
Slowly her physical awareness and wits crept back. She was incredibly wet. Lestrade’s right hand smelt like her.  
  
 _Christ, he did it again!_  
  
Molly seriously began to wonder if Lestrade was ever going to  _get it out of his pants._  
  
She lifted her head, Lestrade gave her hair one last comb-through and met her gaze. His smile was soft and for once didn’t blast through her retinas. ‘Greg?’  
  
‘Hm?’ He raised his eyebrows slightly.  
  
‘Are you going to fuck me?’  
  
~~~~~•~~~~~   
  
Molly’s head spun briefly and she was on her back looking up at Lestrade. ‘Oh, okay,’ she began, ‘Um, pants?’  
  
Lestrade grinned and dived down the bed, his hands stroking down her legs as he went. He pulled her skirt up to her waist and hooked the elastic of her knickers with his fingers, dragging the sopping fabric down and off. It happened so quickly that Molly boggled at him before protesting–  
  
‘I meant  _yours_ , Greg!’  
  
‘Oh, right. Sorry!’ he said, wrenching his vest over his head and then grabbing for his belt buckle.  
  
Molly tried to get her hands to unbutton her blouse while watching Lestrade reveal the rest of his body. It wasn’t working very well. That is, her  _fingers_  weren’t working very well… Lestrade clambering off the bed and almost falling over as he wrenched his jeans off – that was working just fine. Molly giggled and Lestrade’s answering huff of laughter calmed her nerves. She continued her battle of the buttons while also continuing to be distracted by Lestrade’s inelegant striptease.  
  
Time actually stopped for her when he dropped his pants.  
  
‘Oh.’  
  
It started again with a sharp tingle in her extremities. He had the most beautiful dick, she thought with a touch of confusion. She’d never thought that male genitalia could actually be beautiful outside of the Sistine Chapel. Put with the whole package of a naked Lestrade, Molly began to get a glimpse of why Michelangelo might have been a bit obsessed.  
  
‘Christ,’ she whispered.  
  
‘All right?’ he asked, looking slightly worried.  
  
No words. Nothing. She nodded frantically.  
  
Would he look more like a sculpture if she shaved him? How deeply did he sleep?  
  
Lestrade made a little growling sound and climbed back onto the bed where Molly continued to made a dog’s breakfast of her buttons. ‘Here, lemme.’  
  
He pulled and wrenched at her blouse without much more finesse than Molly had, but apparently with far more determination. The blouse parted and he managed to slip it off her shoulders with impressive speed.  
  
Molly was about to get embarrassed about her plain white bra but a glance at the longing in Lestrade’s face – and another glance downward at his very physical response – caused her to take a deep breath and shove her self-conscious thoughts aside. At least for tonight.  
  
‘Oh, can I–’ Lestrade began, and swallowed. He looked up from where his eyes had been fixed. ‘Um, can I undo?’ he asked, looking uncharacteristically serious.  
  
He wanted to undo her bra? What was so difficult about that, Molly wondered. ‘Yes, sure.’ Molly nodded, leaning forward while Lestrade’s hands clasped her around the shoulders, leaning into her until they met with her head cushioned on his chest. His hands felt warm and enormous as they worked at the clasps of her bra. He did a lot better this time and didn’t leave her wondering if he had torn anything. He drew back and she lifted her head from his chest as he slid the straps slowly down her arms. She shivered.  
  
‘What gorgeous little pippins,’ he sighed, his eyes wide and shining.  
  
‘Greg!’ She couldn’t help it, she clutched his shoulders and wrenched him backwards forcefully. He tipped on top of her, off balance for a second until he arranged himself between her legs.  
  
She still had her skirt on.  
  
‘Jesus bloody christ!’ Molly ranted, wrenching at the zip – ‘Fucking, bloody, arrgh!’  
  
Lestrade’s laughter was infectious. ‘Wait, wait! Here,’ he wriggled his hands under her bottom and pulled the zip down. ‘There you go.’  
  
‘Thanks,’ Molly said around a giggle. She had the skirt off at the speed of thought and then pulled Lestrade back where she wanted him.  
  
They both moaned quietly and Lestrade nipped teasingly at her lips while he moved against her gently.  
  
Too gentle, actually.  
  
Molly bucked up against his very erect erection. ‘Greg, please?’  
  
‘Oh, god yeah,’ he husked out. Lestrade leaned on one elbow, grabbed at the condom packet, tore it open with his teeth (that was always a bit sexy) and groped between their bodies, positioning his dick quickly.  
  
Molly gasped at the first contact, drawing her knees up and apart.  
  
‘Fuck,’ Lestrade’s breath hitched and he pushed.  
  
‘Go-o-od–’  
  
‘Was that. Good. Or god?’ he asked breathlessly. Slow slide in, slow slide out.  
  
Molly wanted to unzip her entire body for him. Her vagina simply wasn’t enough to hold this feeling. ‘Go-o-o-od. Ohgod.’ She wrapped her knees around his waist, clamping him close to her, and clutching him inside.  
  
‘Jesus! You feel–’ Lestrade’s voice cracked and stopped altogether. His thrusts picked up speed, with a hard kick as he slid into her.  
  
He panted into the side of her neck, his mouth open and his humid breath giving her urgent goosebumps all over. She dug her heels into his arse, probably bruising him but he didn’t seem to care. ‘Fuck-fuck-fuck–’  
  
‘Shit, I’m going to–’  
  
He seemed to get impossibly big inside her, or was she shrinking? ‘Go on! Go! Greg, jes–’ Molly lost her voice as Lestrade went rigid above her. His arms shook and he made a strangled sound. ‘Oh, oh.’  
  
Yes, she felt that. The thought of Lestrade ejaculating, that  _she_  could get him in that state, sent her over too.  
  
She was making the squeaky sound again. Molly didn’t really give a fuck this time. Lestrade was wheezing and sucking on her neck at the same time. It was strangely pleasing.  
  
She shook rhythmically. She tried timing the pulses that shot through her. She lost count. Again and again. Lestrade circled his hips slowly, seemingly reluctant to pull out. Molly couldn’t agree more with that sentiment.  
  
‘Oh, oh...’ Lestrade repeated, dipping his head to tongue at her nipples.  
  
Were they doing foreplay  _now?_  
  
‘Gah!’  
  
Lestrade dragged his head up. ‘Too much?’ he croaked.  
  
‘Uh-huh,’ Molly said, swallowing around a dry throat. She felt like she’d been yelling for hours.  
  
‘Sorry,’ he murmured.  
  
‘No.’ She shook her head on a neck that didn’t seem to connect to her body.  
  
‘Okay.’ He levered himself up and groped for the edge of the condom.  
  
It was never an elegant sight but all things considered Molly wasn’t inclined to be picky about it. She whined a little at the inevitable slide of his penis leaving her.  
  
Lestrade frowned. ‘Sore?’  
  
Molly shook her head again. ‘No. Miss it.’  
  
‘Oh? Good.’ The grin was back. ‘That’s good.’ Lestrade coughed and swallowed. He backed off the bed and peeled the condom off carefully.  
  
Molly had a thought. ‘How long since you used one?’  
  
‘Eh?’ Lestrade looked up, awkwardly holding the condom closed with its package of devastating genetic material.  
  
Molly had another thought and wisely didn’t voice it.  
  
‘Oh, um. Not since I was about twenty… eight?’ He grinned and waved the condom. ‘Haven’t lost me touch.’  
  
Molly laughed.  
  
  
~~~~~end~~~~~


End file.
